


Ready for My Lessons, Mr. Cortese

by Furuba_Fangirl



Series: The Nice and Accurate Fanfic Gallery [4]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Aziraphale Has a Penis (Good Omens), Bittersweet Ending, Cock Warming, Comfort Sex, Crowley Has A Vulva (Good Omens), Crowley is Good With Kids (Good Omens), Desk Sex, Dom/sub, Dowling Era, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, First Kiss, First Time, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Humor, Fluff and Smut, Inspired by Art, M/M, Masturbation, Miscommunication, Oral Sex, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Porn With Plot, Rimming, Rough Sex, Shameless Smut, Smut, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-15
Updated: 2021-02-22
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:14:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,717
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27015595
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Furuba_Fangirl/pseuds/Furuba_Fangirl
Summary: Aziraphale decides to retire early as Brother Francis to take on the task of becoming Warlock’s English tutor instead. A decision that Nanny Ashtoreth comes to appreciate immensely.OrThe Sexy Adventures of Nanny and the Tutor
Relationships: Aziraphale & Warlock Dowling, Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley & Warlock Dowling, Mr Cortese & Mr Harrison (Good Omens), Mr. Cortese/Nanny Ashtoreth (Good Omens)
Series: The Nice and Accurate Fanfic Gallery [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1997725
Comments: 43
Kudos: 150





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [WhiteleyFoster](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhiteleyFoster/gifts), [MrsMoosie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MrsMoosie/gifts).



> Inspired by Whiteley Foster’s latest [ Nanny Ashtoreth](https://www.instagram.com/p/CGQR7eeF0Ga/?igshid=1lh5komwvs7pc%E2%80%9D%20rel=) post and her version of [ Warlock’s Tutors](https://www.instagram.com/p/CEr2-xVFAFh/?igshid=onopj3we0l4v). Also thanks to MrsMoosie for spawning this fic in my mind with her Instagram comment about Nanny saying, “I’m ready for my close-up, Mr. Cortese.” :D

“I think I have to reconsider my role at the Dowling household, dear,” Aziraphale declares as he enters the backroom with another pair of topped-off wine glasses.

Crowley, who is currently sprawled on the couch, cocks his head at the angel. “Wha’s brought this on?”

Aziraphale huffs, handing Crowley’s glass over, careful not to spill. “Well, lately, I— I’ve been feeling as if I haven’t been reaching Warlock as Brother Francis anymore. He hardly goes out to the garden and much prefers to play on that game-lad widget thingy,” he says, waving his hand indignantly.

“Yeah, s’pose you’re right but you shouldn’t take it personally. He is getting older. Eventually, he won’t need Nanny anymore either...” He takes a generous swig of his wine.

The angel flops on the unoccupied space next to Crowley’s spindly limbs; all decorum of personal space on hiatus while he’s in this state. “Oh, but he adores youuuu. He’d probably start Armageddon early if you even dared leave him,” he says, patting the demon’s shin reassuringly.

Crowley manages not to choke at the contact and slurs, “That may well happen anyways if we don’t figure out how to tip the scale back to your side. Especially now that he’s about to start school again…” Fortunately, a few synapses manage to fire off in his drunken brain and he snaps his fingers triumphantly. “Das it!” 

“Whatsit?”

“Harriet enrolled Warlock in some prod— prosdigious—  _ ugh _ , fancy level courses this year. M’ thinking he’s going to need a tutor to help him through the year.”

Aziraphale mulls this over through his own haze and finally beams. “Y’re right, dear boy! What better way to teach him to be good than, well, being an actual teacher,” he giggles. “Why, I can be his English tutor!  _ War and Peace  _ issa great way to show him the nuances of morality.”

“Hold it there, angel. He’s the Antichrist, not bloody Matilda,” Crowley chuckles.

“Right, right, m’ getting far too ahead of myself. Perhaps we should sober up and plan accordingly.”

—

The following weeks consist of a finely written letter of resignation from Brother Francis to Mrs. Dowling and a heartfelt goodbye from Warlock promising to take care of Sister Slug and Brother Snail now that he’ll be gone. It almost made Brother Francis want to stay but he knew this was for the best. Even Nanny Ashtoreth had her doubts about their decision. She was going to miss their strolls around the garden together and scolding him for going too easy on the geranium. She was also going to miss randomly discovering flowers with notes of endearment dedicated to “ _ My dearest Miss Ashtoreth” _ . Little mementos that nearly made Crowley forget that Aziraphale was simply playing the role of a humble gardener.

Regardless, they were all going to have to adjust to Brother Francis’s departure and the arrival of the newest member of the house, who is set to arrive every Monday through Wednesday from three to five.

“I don’t wanna tutor,” Warlock complains to Nanny as she slides over a plate of biscuits. “I didn’t even wanna take those stupid classes.”

“Now, now, what have I told you about whining?”

He sighs, “It should only come from the wailing voices of my tortured enemies.”

“Exactly. So you listen to what Mr. Cortese has to teach you...  _ but  _ not above your nanny, of course.”

“Fine,” he says, huffily biting into his snack.

Soon, the doorbell rings and they hear the footsteps of one of the secret service men answering the doors. 

In a Welsh accent, a gruff voice greets, “Hello, I’m here for Mr. Warlock’s lessons for the day.” The sound of the door shutting echoes once the man is permitted entry.

“Alright, my little devil’s spawn. Let’s go meet your new tutor.”

Warlock hops off his stool with a grumble and Nanny Ashtoreth walks alongside him as they make their way to the foyer.

As the agent searches through his tan book bag, Mr. Cortese is patiently standing clad in a grey tweed suit, arms folded behind his back. When he gets the all-clear, the tutor shoulders it again with a thank you and turns around to face Warlock and his caretaker. “Ah, you must be my new pupil. I’m Mr. Cortese,” he beams.

Crowley is very grateful for her glasses as her eyes nearly bug out at the sight of Aziraphale sporting a coarse, well-groomed beard.  _ Oh, fuck me, angel. Who gave you the right to make yourself even more irresistible? _

Mr. Cortese shakes Warlock’s hand who reciprocates as politely as he can. The tutor then directs his attention to Nanny Ashtoreth. “Afternoon, ma’am. Pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

She tries to keep her snakey tongue from hissing as she says, “The pleasure is all mine.” 

“Well, now that we’ve properly introduced ourselves, why don’t we head on over to the study room?”

“I’ll show you to it,” Nanny volunteers, despite Aziraphale already knowing where it is.

“Thank you, milady,” he says as they all make their way down the hall. “So, Mr. Warlock I hear you’re a fan of fantasy books?”

“Yeah,” he answers, still dubious.

“In that case, you’re in luck because I brought a whole selection of books for you to choose from! Although, I would recommend we start with  _ James and the Giant Peach _ .”

“Oh, you’ll like that one, dear. His parents get eaten by a rhino!”

“Really?” he asks with excitement. 

“Er, yes, but the important part is about James’s determination through his journey,” Mr. Cortese explains.

“Yes, and that he has the help of a whole gang of life-sized bugs along the way.”

“Cool! I wanna start with that one then!” The boy rushes into the study room leaving his tutor and nanny alone.

Aziraphale smiles graciously at Crowley. “Thank you for getting him interested, dear.”

“No problem, angel, m’ sure you’ll do great,” she encourages, sans Scottish lilt.

He nods, more confident in himself, before waving goodbye to go join Warlock.

—

As the school year goes by, Warlock finds himself progressively enjoying his sessions with Mr. Cortese. He helps him with his grammar and vocabulary, which is boring for any seven-year-old but his tutor always rewards him by lending him a new book each week. Even more entertaining is that after each lesson he gets to hear Nanny and him debate about the moral of each story. The two had gotten into a particularly heated tiff about how, no,  _ Mrs. Frisby and the Rats of NIMH  _ is not a long-winded metaphor for anarchy and civil disobedience, Miss Ashtoreth. Despite this, it is an interesting dynamic that Warlock is growing accustomed to.

So, it comes as no surprise to him when they start getting into it when Nanny shows up with Jaffa cakes in the middle of their lesson.

“Miss Ashtoreth, please, we’ve discussed the negative effects that processed sugars can have on young Mr. Dowling’s studying.”

“Is that so? Because I happen to know a bookshop owner who reads just fine with a side of sweets,” she teases, sliding the saucer over the desk to Warlock.

The tutor glowers at her indignantly before using two broad fingers to promptly push it away. “That is completely different considering Warlock is a growing child who needs a nutritious diet to help with his academic success.”

The corner of Nanny’s lips curl up into a smirk as she defyingly returns the saucer to Mr. Cortese’s student. “Well, I say that a couple of measly Jaffa cakes are not going to cause him to flunk out of primary school.”

Suddenly, Mr. Cortese stands up with a huff of disapproval, tugging down his waistcoat. He lays both his palms down flat on the desk as he stares at Nanny Ashtoreth over his reading glasses. “Milady, I know you want to indulge Mr. Warlock but he is under my care for at least another hour. So, until then the treats will simply have to wait.” Then, to add insult to injury he crosses his arms over his chest. “Is that understood, Miss Ashtoreth?”

Warlock snickers at the way his Nanny gulps as if she got scolded by her own father. “Ooh, you’re in trouble now, Nanny.”

She clears her throat, trying to regain her poised composure; although, the blush painting her cheeks betrays that. “It appears so, dear.” The caretaker reaches down to remove the saucer. “Yes, Mr. Cortese, I understand. I’ll leave you to it then.” With that, she scurries out of the study room with a swish of her skirt.

Mr. Cortese then calmly sits back down in his chair. “I’m sorry you had to see that, Warlock. It was very unprofessional on both of our parts.”

“It’s okay,” he giggles. “Can I ask you something, Mr. Cortese?”

“Of course.”

“Are you and Nanny gonna get married?” he asks sincerely.

His tutor sputters at the question. “I— we, uh. No, no, absolutely not. My dear boy, what would make you think that? W-we fight all the time.”

Warlock shrugs. “So do my parents and they’re married.”

Mr. Cortese looks at him sympathetically. “Perhaps but every relationship is different. Miss Ashtoreth and I are two very distinct, um, people that just so happen to have the same role which is watching over you.”

“I dunno, that still sounds like marriage to me,” he points out with a sly smile before grabbing his pencil to get back to work.

—

In the kitchen, Nanny Ashtoreth is nursing an over-steeped cup of tea; her mind still racing from what had occurred.

Mr. Cortese, or in this case Aziraphale if the fidgety hands are any indication, enters the kitchen now that his lesson has concluded. “Um, hello, dear... May I sit down?” he asks motioning to the empty seat across from her at the counter and she nods her head. Once he’s settled, he sighs, “I wanted to apologize for my snit earlier. I was out of line.”

Crowley shakes her head dismissively. “S’ alright, angel. That’s the job innit? Canceling each other out. ‘Sides I was kind of stepping on your toes back there too so no hard feelings,” she says with a reassuring smile. 

Aziraphale notices her scratching her scalp nervously and presses, “Are you sure?”

“Yeah, ‘course… Although, if I’m being completely honest, I, uh… kind of liked it,” she admits barely above a whisper.

Aziraphale blinks at her. “What?”

“You standing up to me, I mean. I thought it was really…”  _ Really fucking sexy. _ “Bold.”

“Oh,” the angel says, dumbfounded. “Then maybe I should try being assertive more often,” he suggests in Mr. Cortese’s voice.

Crowley tries to suppress the shiver running through her body. “Don’t push your luck, sweetheart,” Nanny Ashtoreth answers.

—

Later that night at her vanity mirror, Crowley carefully removes all the pins holding her neat hair, letting the ringlets fall down loosely. She gives them one last tousle before miracling on her long-sleeve nightgown so she can relax already. While she lounges on top of her sheets, she stares blankly at the wooden canopy above her bed; loneliness washing over her. Although it isn’t unfamiliar ever since Aziraphale moved out. Sure, Brother Francis lived in the guest house across the garden while Nanny slept in the main house. Despite the separation, it was nice knowing her angel was nearby.

Now, she has to make do with the few hours she gets with Mr. Cortese each week. Although today’s incident might hold her off until their next meeting. 

No matter how much she tries Crowley can’t get the image out of her head. Those intense blue eyes glaring a hole into her, his sleeves rolled up to reveal muscular forearms, and his rough voice; that goddamn  _ voice _ . Honestly, she hates herself for the way her cunt throbbed desperately at that moment. Well, even now, her sex flutters at the mere recollection.

It’s not like the demon hasn’t fantasized about Aziraphale before. Crowley has plenty locked away in the spank bank. But  _ this _ … this is different. Whenever Crowley imagined being with Aziraphale the demon figured the angel would be a tender lover. He’d definitely be a hedonistic, teasing bastard but gentle nonetheless. This afternoon, however, she was reminded that underneath all that softness is sheer angelic force. Aziraphale is a Principality! The Guardian of the Eastern Gate who could tear Crowley apart if it ever pleased him… or her.

The demon takes in a shuddery breath, feeling the wetness pool between her legs. Her hands that have been tensely folded over her abdomen start to glide over the black, satin fabric. Her restless fingertips find the knotted bow resting on her sternum and she tugs the flimsy strings free. Crowley then peels down enough of the fabric to expose her nipples to the air. She kneads the flesh of her breasts in her palms, wishing they were her angel’s broad hands instead. The demon then slickens a couple of fingers in her mouth before circling them around each peaked bud as she lets out a breathy gasp. Fuck, she can just imagine how it would feel like to have Aziraphale’s lips suckling at her while the hair of that glorious beard scratched at her sensitive flesh. He’d probably throw in a few bites for good measure, the glutton. In fact, she tries her best to mimic this by lightly raking her nails over her tits then plucking at her nipples and Crowley bites back her wanton moan.

As Crowley becomes more desperate, she rucks up the hem of her nightshirt to gather at her hips; the cold air a stark contrast to her scorching cunt. While one hand busies itself with pinching her breasts, the other brushes through the dampening curls of her mound. A finger dips between her folds to spread the slick that has gathered, eventually landing on her clitoris, already swollen to the touch. She keens lowly, rubbing delicate circles over it as if it were the tip of Aziraphale’s slick tongue. Although, perhaps he wouldn’t be that patient after all. 

Maybe, he would channel that same energy as Mr. Cortese and put her in her place. Maybe he’d have her on the kitchen counter or even on the Dowling’s imported, leather sofa, burying his face in her pussy with the condition she does not make a sound through the entire ride. Two trembling fingers, frantically push past her slippery labia as she envisions her angel tongue-fucking her while they run the risk of being caught by any number of the staff.

The line between fantasy and reality blurs and Crowley is unable to tell if she’s quietly panting “ _ Angel, angel, angel _ ,” in just her head anymore. She feels herself on the edge of coming and she messily strokes at her clit until she’s arching off the bed; a clothed arm thrown over her mouth to muffle her cries. 

Once the afterglow of her orgasm wanes, she is left feeling as empty as ever, knowing that all of that would only occur in the recesses of her mind. So she miracles herself clean and curls into her bed sheets to sleep away the painful longing in her damned soul...


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Brief unsolicited flirting by a sleazy human :p

The air has dropped a few degrees but the trees have transitioned to the warm tones of autumn. Which meant Warlock is currently free to kick and roll around in the leaves, making a mess of his uniform. All with the supervision of his nanny, who waves at Mr. Cortese through the study window. While he packs up his material for the day, the door creaks open.

“Oh, good, you’re still here.”

The tutor looks up to see Harriet standing at the doorway. “Ah, Mrs. Dowling, what can I help you with? Did you have a question about Mr. Warlock’s work?”

“No, nothing like that. I was wondering, are you busy next Thursday? You see, we’re having a Thanksgiving party with some friends and family, and I was wondering if you’d like to join us. I know you probably don’t celebrate it but we wanted to show our appreciation for helping Warlock. Did you know he's top in his English class?” she asks excitedly.

Mr. Cortese chuckles, “Yes, he might have mentioned it a few times. As for the party, it’d be an honor to join.” He had never been to their Thanksgiving dinner since there really wasn’t a point in inviting the gardener of all people. Regardless, Crowley would always do him the favor of bringing Aziraphale a plate of food afterward, still miraculously warmed for him to enjoy.

“Great! Here’s the invitation with all the details. Tad and I will be looking forward to seeing you there.”

—

As the tutor makes his way out, Nanny and Warlock are returning to the house. “Now, Hellraiser, go get yourself cleaned up. Just make sure to leave your shoes on to surprise Mrs. Gale with some nice footprints for her to vacuum.

He nods mischievously as he zips past Mr. Cortese with a brisk good-bye.

“So, seems I’ll be seeing you at the party?” Crowley says, motioning to the envelope in Aziraphale’s hand.

“Yes, I’m quite excited to attend this year! I’m going to stop by my tailor this weekend to get fitted for a tux. Or Mr. Cortese will have to, I should say.”

Oh, Crowley couldn’t wait for that sight. “Well, I could use the company so I’m glad you’ll make it,” she admits.

“Me too, dear,” he beams. 

—

The night of Thanksgiving arrives and Aziraphale can hear the classical music playing even before the secret service agent allows him entrance. Inside, the angel is met with the scent of cinnamon and sage drifting through the air, properly whetting his appetite. Unbeknownst to him, something far more enticing is making her way down the stairs.

“Evening, Mr. Cortese.”

He cheerfully turns to greet, “Evening, Miss…Ashtoreth.”

Leaning against the banister, Crowley is dolled up in a long, red gown and black stilettos. The pearl necklace around her throat complimented by the low-cut of the tight fabric displaying her jutted collar bones and her sparse yet alluring cleavage. Her scarlet lips pull up into a cheeky smile as Nanny teases, “Might want to close your gob, darling. You’ll catch a fly.”

Aziraphale snaps his unwittingly gaping mouth shut. “I-I apologize, dear,” he bumbles. “It’s just... you look _stunning._ ”

The demon saunters down the final steps, a sinuous leg peeking through the slit of her skirt as she does so. “You think so?” she asks, crowding closer to him. “Might I ask who exactly is giving this lovely compliment, hmm? My favorite angel or my favorite teacher.” He stammers a bit more and she decides to have pity on him. “No matter. Thanks either way. And you’re not looking too shabby yourself,” Crowley says as she adjusts his black bow tie.

He thanks her with a blush before extending an elbow out to her. “Shall we go join the others, milady?”

Nanny Ashtoreth wraps her arm around it. “Thought you’d never ask.”

The pair head to the living room already teaming with caterers and chattering guests. “Ooh, this is quite lavish. They always do strive for perfection don’t they?” Aziraphale comments, grabbing a mini quiche off of a tray.

“Yeah, but we both know it's only for appearance,” she retorts, an edge of bitterness to her voice. “M’ gonna go grab us some bubbly. Be right back.”

Aziraphale nods as he happily munches away and Crowley strolls over to the open bar. While the waiter pours her drinks, someone from behind says in an American drawl, “ _Hello_ , Miss Ash.”

Crowley pulls a face of disgust before replacing it with her polite yet stern one. When she turns around, a man with salt and pepper hair is lecherously giving her a once-over. “Hello, Mr. Anderson. Figures you’d be here tonight,” she says curtly. 

“Ohh, I’ve told you before, you can call me Philip.” He moves to stand adjacent to her, a hip resting on the bar as he crosses his arm with a grin. “And you know me. Can’t say no to my favorite cousin. Aside from her hospitality, I couldn’t pass up the chance to see her beautiful nanny again.”

“Did Mrs. Dowling hire another nanny I don’t know about because I could go get her for you?”

“You’re too modest, Miss Ash,” he chuckles obnoxiously. “That’s why I’m still hoping you’ll take me up on that offer to dinner while I’m in town.”

_When pigs fly you sodding cretin._ Nanny Ashtoreth starts, “About that—”

“Ah, thank you for getting our drinks, sweetheart.” An arm slithers around her waist to gently grab her hip as Mr. Cortese sidles beside her. “You’re too kind,” he praises, chastely pressing a kiss to her cheek, leaving it pleasantly warm.

Crowley looks just as bewildered as Mr. Anderson but she quickly recovers. “You’re welcome, dearie. Actually, I was just about to mention you.” The nanny gives the other man a smirk. “Mr. Anderson, this is Mr. Cortese. James Cortese,” she says pointedly. “He’s Warlock’s English tutor and my date.” The demon rather likes how that sounds coming out of her mouth… “ _James,_ this is Mr. Anderson: one of Harriet’s relatives.”

“How do you do?” Mr. Cortese asks with exalted cheeriness, holding out his hand.

Mr. Anderson wearily shakes it. “I’m good, thanks,” he answers with faux amiability. 

“Oh my, that is a lovely wedding ring! White gold from, hmm, Cartier I’d say,” the tutor points out. 

He withdraws it sheepishly. “Uh, yeah…”

“How long have you’ve been married?”

“‘Bout fifteen years,” he mutters, getting increasingly uncomfortable.

“Lovely! Is the missus around? I’d love to meet her,” Mr. Cortese suggests.

Nanny Ashtoreth decides to answer for him. “Oh, unfortunately, she’s back in Pennsylvania. You see, the poor dear is an ER nurse so she can’t take long holidays but she never wants to keep her husband from spending time with his family. Isn’t that right, Mr. Anderson?”

“Right. Um, I gotta go… go see if Harriet needs help with anything,” he stammers.

“It was a pleasure meeting you! Give your wife our regards,” Mr. Cortese says before Mr. Anderson scuttles off. Once he’s out of sight, Aziraphale huffs, “Honestly, the nerve of that man.” 

Crowley starts giggling amusedly. “Angel, do you realize you were acting as if I was one of your dusty books that he was trying to buy.”

He defends, “W-well, maybe it _was_ rather possessive of me and I had no doubt you could handle the situation but…” the angel frowns, “I could sense his unholy thoughts from across the room. I’m afraid it got under my skin...”

She smiles gratefully at him, realizing he’s still holding her protectively. “My hero.” Crowley pecks his scruff just enough for it to be interpreted as playful instead of a genuine act of affection. Although, it makes both of their hearts soar, regardless.

Aziraphale finally releases the demon to reach over to grab his flute off the counter and Crowley does the same. 

The pair sip their champagne together until they’re interrupted by Harriet. “Nanny, there you are. Oh, hi, Mr. Cortese,” she hurriedly greets. “Have either of you seen Warlock around?”

Mr. Cortese shakes his head and Nanny Ashtoreth responds, “I assume he’s in his room playing until supper is ready.”

“Well, he was until I broke the news to him that Tad’s flight got delayed and he isn’t going to make it in time.”

“Shocker,” Nanny mumbles.

“What?”

“I said, ‘Shame.’ Especially for Warlock.”

“Don’t worry, Mrs. Dowling. I’m sure he’s around somewhere. Tell you what, why don’t Miss Ashtoreth and I go look for him?”

“That would be great, thank you two.” 

They set their glasses aside, assuring Harriet that he’ll turn up. As Aziraphale and Crowley make their way out of the parlor, the angel says, “If he’s not in the house, I have an idea of where the boy might be.”

—

Outside, the ethereal beings walk along the small footpath lined with garden lights. “Warlock often played in the alcove so perhaps he went there to be alone.” When they reach the end of the path, they indeed find him sitting on the concrete bench surrounded by pristinely cut hedges. His head hangs low as he glumly swings his feet; the tips of his sneakers now able to skid along the stone.

“Oh, dear, I believe he needs some cheering up,” he whispers. Aziraphale starts patting himself down. “I should have a coin here somewhere.”

“Nuh-uh, absolutely not. Just… lemme handle it,” she assures softly.

He acquiesces, allowing Crowley space to talk to Warlock.

As she approaches the child, she asks, “May I join you on your throne?”

Warlock’s silent for a moment, until finally, he murmurs, “You may, underling.”

His nanny sits down next to him, folding her hands on her lap. “So, I heard you were upset that your dad couldn’t make it.”

He shrugs, “It’s whatever… It’s not like it’s the first time.”

She calmly pets his head. “Maybe but I’m sure that doesn’t make it any easier for you.” Warlock sniffles miserably and Nanny pulls him closer. “Oh, poppet, it’s alright,” she shushes.

“He doesn’t love me! That’s why he doesn’t ever want to see me,” he wails, breaking Crowley’s heart.

“Look at me, dear,” she says, tenderly squeezing his shoulders and he stares up at her, dripping tears and snot. “No matter what, you are loved. Why, you have a whole garrison in Hell waiting to grovel at your feet.”

Warlock giggles at his nanny’s imagination as he wipes his nose with his sleeve.

“And you’re Dad loves you too. Even if, let’s be honest, he’s a bit of a tosser but what parent isn’t? My mummy dearest was the same so welcome to the club. Still... just because they don’t know how to show it, doesn’t mean they don’t care about you. Do you understand?”

“Yeah, I guess,” he sniffles, rubbing his eye. “Nanny… you love me too, right?”

The question catches her off guard yet she smiles faintly as she scruffs his hair. “Of course I do, my destroyer of worlds.”

He wraps his arms around her waist, clutching onto her. “You’re better at showing it than anyone… You’d never, ever leave me would you?”

Nanny hugs him back, soothingly rubbing his back as she sighs, “The only promise I can make you, dear, is that I’ll always watch over you one way or another… For now, here’s what I want you to do. I want you to keep your chin up, sneak into the kitchen, and spoil your dinner with the biggest slice of pie you can get your hands on. Is that clear?” she asks, feigning sternness.

“Yes, Nanny,” Warlock titters, as he lets go of her. “Are you coming with me?”

“I’ll give you a head start and I’ll meet you there.”

He accepts this, thanking his nanny with a final hug before he leaves. 

With Warlock gone, Aziraphale emerges from behind a shrub to approach Crowley. “My dear, you did a phenomenal job! Honestly, I am a bit envious at how natural you are with children.”

She scoffs, “Yeah, might as well change my name to Philomena and call it a day.”

Aziraphale’s grin falters as he notices the demon’s guarded posture and how she’s angled away from him. “Crowley? What’s the matter?”

“I just don’t see the point of you congratulating me as if I did anything special. I just told him what he wanted to hear so he wouldn’t blow a fuse.”

“Oh, I don’t believe that for a moment. You care for the boy.”

“Well, I shouldn’t,” she snaps. “M’ just a demon trying to keep the world from going tits-up! That’s it! I’m not his friend and I am certainly not his mother!”

The angel’s eyes widen at the outburst as he notices her angrily gripping the edge of the bench, tiny fissures forming in the process. Aziraphale sits down next to Crowley and cautiously asks, “Dear, what happened? …I know you and this isn’t coming from nowhere. Tell me what’s wrong?” He carefully reaches down to place his hand over her gloved one.

Crowley relaxes her grasp and lets out a shuddery exhalation, her face still turned away. “I had a nice chat with Harriet this past weekend… Seems my services won’t be needed soon.”

“What?” Aziraphale gasps.

“Yep, m’ getting the boot at the end of the school year. Said she wanted Warlock to get used to not having me around during the summer…”

“Crowley, I am so sorry,” he mutters.

“We both knew it was bound to happen but I… I didn’t think…” Her voice cracks, unable to finish the sentence. “S’ my fault. Shouldn’t have gotten attached to the little bugger.” 

Aziraphale comfortingly intertwines their hands together. “You shouldn’t feel ashamed for being hurt, my dear. You’ve taken care of him since he was a babe and... you’ve done a remarkable job at that.”

When she finally shifts her body to face him, there’s a dark streak on her cheek illuminated by the dim light. “Thanks, angel…”

Aziraphale silently pulls out the handkerchief from his coat pocket and hands it to Crowley. “I know it won’t be the same but as you said, you’ll always be there for him. You know next year, he’ll start taking history lessons. Maybe you can teach Warlock all the gory details of war or the discord and dissent the Black Knight wreaked on Wessex. You’d like that wouldn’t you?”

The demon huffs out a tired laugh as she takes the cloth, perching her dark glasses on her head to wipe her eyes. “Yeah, I guess that wouldn’t be so bad.”

“You’ll see, dear… Everything will be fine. I can feel it,” he says with that reassuring optimism of his.

Crowley becomes acutely aware of how their thighs are grazing each other and how the angel draws small circles on the back of her hand, warm leather acting as a barrier. “I hope so, Aziraphale…” she whispers breathlessly, dazed eyes landing on his lips… lips that were slightly parted like her own now and getting suspiciously close—

Oh!

The demon’s lips are enveloped by warmth and there is the subtle scratch of stubble against her chin as she kisses Aziraphale… Or is he kissing her? She doesn’t know and really doesn’t care at the moment; her free hand gripping his lapel to ground herself.

Yet, as rapidly as the kiss transpired that’s how abruptly it ends when Aziraphale pulls away with mortification. “Oh my, I— Crowley, I apologize! That was terribly inappropriate of me! I shouldn’t have… _We_ shouldn’t have—“

His ranting is calmed by a hand cupping his cheek and glimmering, pleading eyes staring at him. “Angel, please… please don’t push me away,” she begs pitifully. He lifts a hand to caress her wrist but she can still see the turmoil across his face.

“My dear, I… I can’t—“

“Please, Mr. Cortese,” she says in Nanny’s voice, threaded with pain and want. “Stay with me…”

She’s giving him a buffer. A way for him to exculpate himself later by telling himself it wasn’t him but the charismatic tutor that consorted with the Antichrist’s nanny. And she can tell by the worried knit of his eyebrows and the way he’s gnawing at his bottom lip that he’s considering what she is offering.

Aziraphale swallows before Mr. Cortese quietly yields, “Yes, Miss Ashtoreth… I’ll stay.”

It’s the final drop in a cup that has been steadily filling over six millennia. The permission they needed to desperately cling onto each other’s lips, giving into temptation.

“This is… This is outrageous, dear,” the tutor rasps.

“Mhm,” she emptily agrees as she licks along the seam of his mouth causing him to moan.

“Absolutely _scandalous_ , even. Someone could walk by and see us.” Despite the reticence in his words, his body is pressed firmly against hers; a hand roaming the base of her back while the other kneads her exposed thigh.

Nanny drapes her right leg over his lap, hands gliding over his pleated dress shirt as she pants, “Don’t care. Let them see how desperate I am for you, Mr. Cortese. As a matter of fact, I want anyone who stumbles across us to know how much I’m _aching_ for you to touch me…”

“Is that so?” he asks raggedly, nosing down her throat. “Is that what you desire, Miss Ashtoreth.” His fingers toy with the bow of her garter. “You wish for me to relieve that ache blooming inside of you.” 

“ _N_ _nh,_ yes.” 

He hums, “And how exactly should I do that?”

The demon whimpers at the question, suddenly too overwhelmed to answer as he nibbles at her collar bones.

So, Mr. Cortese dips a thumb experimentally under the red fabric. “Am I getting warmer?”

She nods her head frantically, her flushed cheek nuzzling against his temple.

His hand then disappears completely and her breathing stutters as a finger teases her clothed mons. “Warmer?”

“So warm,” she keens, stretching her leg on the ground open to emphasize this.

Then his hand slides down to feel the balmy humidness of her panties for himself. “I have to disagree. I’d say…” He pushes the lace to the side, fingertips stroking the seam of her cunt. “I am red _hot_ ,” he purrs into her ear and, Jesus, Crowley could come just from that.

“ _Ah! Yes,_ you are, ang... Mr. Cortese. _Mmh!”_ She slings her arms around his shoulders, steadying herself as a manicured finger teasingly wriggles at her entrance. When he does finally delve into her tight heat, the tutor drinks up her needy moans with more kisses. 

It’s not long before another finger is nudging inside and Nanny’s hips twitch forward to push them deeper. “So beautiful,” he puffs, pecking at her jawline. “ _Oh,_ darling, your quim is absolutely exquisite.”

She shudders helplessly at his praise and his fingers curling up to rub at her g-spot. “Oh, _fuck.._. Mr. Cortese, _please..._ Your fingers are wonderful b-but I want… I _need_ —” She groans when the pad of his thumb strokes her clit.

“Is that better, milady?”

“ _Yessss_. It really is but… but…” Her mouth unable to articulate as her mind shorts out. 

Mr. Cortese slows his ministrations to lazy circles as he asks, “What do you want, my dear?” The only response he gets is Nanny Ashtoreth burying her head in the crook of his neck with a whine. “It’s okay, dear, take your time,” he coos, tenderly brushing the curls on the back of her head. “I’m not trying to tease you… If you want something more, you have to communicate it clearly, Miss Ashtoreth,” he explains with a steady voice. “Will you do that for me?”

“I will,” she says breathily, lifting her head to meet his gaze. “I-I want… I want to ride you until you come inside of me, Mr. Cortese.”

It’s the angel’s turn to blush deeply at the request. “I-I see…”

Crowley’s growing regret is soothed by Aziraphale’s smile; far too demure for someone who is knuckle-deep in her twat.

“I would very much like that too, dear,” Mr. Cortese assures, pressing his lips to her forehead. 

She gasps weakly when he pulls out his lovely fingers so he can hoist up her other leg. After he slides off her flimsy panties, that ridiculous angel of hers actually _folds_ them before neatly setting them aside on the bench. She cackles in amusement, hugging him closer as she finds yet another reason to fall in love with him.

“What, they’re lovely knickers,” he exclaims. “I wasn’t going to toss them willy-nilly.”

“Yeah, yeah! Shut up and kiss me you old busy-body,” she says before slamming they’re beaming mouths together.

Mr. Cortese giggles at Nanny Ashtoreth swearing under her breath as she struggles to scoop up her skirt in an attempt to straddle him. When she finally does manage to seat herself on top, she groans as his erection grazes her clit.

“Can you feel that, dear? Can you feel how badly I want you too?” he breathes, punctuating the question with a roll of his hips.

“Uh-huh,” she whines, yanking up the tutor’s cummerbund. Her hand then tentatively travels down between them, giving him an inquisitive look. 

Once Mr. Cortese excitedly nods in approval, he shudders as slender fingers explore the curves of his balls and the thick line of his shaft through his trousers. With heavy eyelids, he watches the nanny work at his button and zipper. “My dear— _Ungh!_ ” 

She pulls out his cock and reels at the warm flesh throbbing in her grasp. “Oh, Mr. Cortese… You are going to absolutely split me open with this,” she hisses.

“Oh, God. Oh, God,” he chants quietly, accent wavering as she strokes him with reverence.

Crowley lifts herself on her knees hovering her glossy labia enticingly close to the tip of his cock. The angel kisses her gently, relieving her nerves as he guides her hips down, and she practically sobs with pleasure as her muscles stretch around every inch of him until she reaches the hilt. 

“ _A-ah!_ Y-you— fuck, you feel even better around my cock, milady,” Mr. Cortese growls.

“ _Nngh,_ you feel amazing too,” Nanny cries, shaky hands grappling at his shoulders.

“I-it’s alright. I’m here… I’m here, sweetheart,” he says, peppering her face with kisses.

After her body adjusts to the sting, Crowley jerkily grinds back and forth to test the drag. Eventually, she steadily builds up her rhythm to the point where she is frantically spearing herself on his prick from root to tip; her curls bouncing in the moonlight as they pant into each other’s mouths. 

Mr. Cortese kisses and licks down her sternum to the small swell of her breasts. “You are gorgeous like this, dear. So vocal and needy,” he heaves. “You’re practically glowing... I-I dare say you are as brilliant as the stars watching over us.”

Crowley tilts her head up to the sky, blinking away the tears; his words carving at her heart. The demon had dreamed of a day where she could make love to her angel under her own creations. Sure, she didn't expect it to be under these circumstances where they were playing two versions of themselves but… she didn’t care. He was with her. Holding her, doting her with kisses, thrusting up into the temple of her body... She didn’t deserve to ask for more.

She wraps her arms around his neck as the pressure inside of her builds like a geyser. “I’m, _haah_ , I’m _so_ close,” Nanny hiccups.

“I am too, darling. Won’t you come with me?”

In an instant, Crowley unravels with a strained shout as a burst of come shoots along her clenching walls; her body trembling against Aziraphale as he groans into her chest.

The angel presses a bearded cheek to her bosom, the drum of her erratic heartbeat soothing him as his haggard breaths begin to steady. 

“Th… Thank you,” Crowley mutters.

“Um… You’re welcome, dear,” Aziraphale says, unsure if that’s the appropriate response.

She caresses his perfumed curls, not wanting this moment to end. Ultimately, Crowley dryly sniffs, “We should get ourselves back to the party…”

“Yes, I suppose we should,” he exhales, lifting his head from its perch. “I’m suddenly famished.” The faint lighthearted intonation giving the demon hope that maybe things won’t be awkward between them after all.

“Might constitute as dessert at this point,” she jokes with a wink, and Aziraphale giggles. Carefully, Crowley slides off his softened cock, both gasping at the wet suction of her pussy trying to greedily hold it in. She then snaps her fingers, their corporations and clothes returning to the original state. Well… with one exception on the demon’s part.

As she climbs off the angel’s lap so they can stand, she feels the trickle of Aziraphale’s spend soaking into her underwear. A reminder to herself on their walk back that all of this wasn’t in her imagination.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys, I'm back! So sorry for the delay on this story. The end of last year was super draining and it left me with the absolute worst writer's block 😞 But things have finally calmed down in my life so my hope is I'll finally be putting out more content! Happy Reading, and thanks for the patience!

Once winter arrived at the Dowling household, the next few weeks crawled along at a snail’s pace like the chilling blood in Crowley’s veins. With Warlock out of school and his family on holiday in the Caribbean, Aziraphale and Crowley found themselves taking a break from their dutiful counterparts. For the time being, the pair fell back into their old routines. Crowley would stop by the bookshop, Aziraphale would offer him a drink, and he’d listen to the demon complain about how Thaddeus was probably going to ditch Harriet and Warlock at the resort to drink with his buddies at the embassy. Then, Crowley would be on his way until the next time they saw each other, neither breathing a single word of what happened the month prior.

Everything was normal... Frustratingly normal. 

Yet, a small part of Crowley thinks it’s for the best. Their relationship, or whatever the bond he and Aziraphale share, has been tenuous enough with the threat of discovery looming over them, and Crowley doesn’t want to strain it any further in fear that it might finally shatter. For once in his existence, he is the one afraid of going too fast. The irony is not lost on the demon and he wonders if it’s divine repercussion for his original temptation. He had taken a bite of his own Forbidden Fruit, savored it on his tongue and felt it in his body. Now, like Eve, he’d have to live with only the sweet memory of it...

A memory that becomes harder to suppress when Nanny Ashtoreth and Mr. Cortese return under the same roof again. The charge that sparked that moment in the garden lingering in the air as they greet each other after what seemed like eons of separation.

And Crowley feels utterly fucked. 

In the following days, Nanny does her best to minimize her interactions with the tutor, allowing him to do his job without provocation. The more space between them, the more she could trust herself not to throw herself at his feet and ask— _beg_ — to have one more taste... A safeguard that pains her to the very core.

A fact that’s not lost on even the youngest of observers.

During one of their sessions, Mr. Cortese notices Warlock staring at his workbook while he mindlessly rolls his pencil back and forth across the desk. He looks over from his own book and asks, “Are you having trouble understanding something, Warlock?”

“Not really,” he mutters, still distracted.

“Alright. Is there something else that’s on your mind then?”

The child huffs with a pout, finally letting his utensil fall to the floor. “I think something is bothering Nanny... She’s been melon-y.”

It takes him a moment but the tutor concludes, “I believe you mean ‘melancholy’ but I’m glad you’ve been brushing up on your vocabulary. Anyway, what makes you say that, dear boy?”

“Well, she hasn’t been paying much attention to me like she used to. When I talk to her it’s like she’s thinking of something else and... she looks sad even if she pretends not to be,” he explains, his face overcome with a sadness of his own. “Maybe, I did something wrong.”

A sudden pang of guilt rises in the angel’s chest, acknowledging that he has purposely ignored these same signs. He isn’t naive. He’s felt the growing tension between him and Crowley ever since they got back to work. It was easy to pretend when they weren’t wearing their disguises. They could play the roles of hereditary enemies with a common goal like they had done for the last six millennia but whenever he saw the demon again, prim and beautiful as ever, all the heated emotions he felt that Thanksgiving night were on the verge of spilling over. Worse of all, he was selfishly grateful that Crowley was the one keeping her distance so he wouldn’t feel like so much of a coward. Still, this is an issue that not even the Antichrist should be worrying about.

He sets his book aside before he firmly reassures, “Now, you did nothing of the sorts, young man. You see, sometimes adults have problems that children don’t understand yet, so we try not to get them involved. It’s good that you care so much for your nanny but I’m sure that whatever is wrong it has nothing to do with you.”

Warlock nods at him solemnly. “Then, if it’s an adult problem... can’t you talk to Nanny?”

“O-oh, um, I am the last person that’d she want to hear from— “

“ _Please_. I just want her to be happy again…”

Mr. Cortese looks into his pleading eyes and relents with a sigh. “Alright, if it makes you feel better, and if you promise to finish up your work while I’m gone, I will go talk to Miss Ashtoreth.”

“I promise,” he beams.

—

In the hallway, Aziraphale notices an orange flicker coming from the family den. When he reaches the doorway, he finds Crowley asleep on the chaise, a blanket covering her while the fireplace crackles away. A serpent in hibernation as the snow falls quietly outside the frosty windows.

He gently locks the double doors behind him, careful not to wake her. As he approaches her, Aziraphale regards how gracefully the flames’ light dances on her features, just like it used to on cold desert nights or in shady pubs with mediocre ale. Back when the urge to touch that fiery beauty was a bearable inconvenience instead of a deep-seated need. Ever so gently, the angel squeezes Crowley’s shoulder but quickly retreats when she starts to stir. 

Dreary eyes open and stare up in confusion as they slowly adjust. “Aziraphale? What are you doing here?” She sluggishly checks her watch. “I thought you were supposed to be with Warlock.”

“I was and I’m sorry for waking you, dear, but something has come up.” Crowley sits up in a slight panic and Aziraphale quickly assures, “Nothing of apocalyptic levels or any sudden manifestation of satanic powers, if that’s what you’re wondering. He just wanted me to come talk to you.”

“Oh…”

The angel motions at the edge of the lounge. “May I sit?”

She blinks at him, yet ultimately nods. The demon tucks her legs against her chest to make room for him but, also, to ensure that they don’t encroach on each other’s space. “So, what’s so important that you’re taking orders from the spawn of Satan?” she jabs lightly.

He rolls his eyes at her insinuation. “I’m not taking orders. It was a mutual agreement but that is beside the point. The boy’s worried about you.”

Crowley’s face is unmoving but the maternal part of her heart skips a beat. “S’ that right?”

“Yes, he has noticed that you’ve been, uh, distracted and he wanted me to check up on you. See if I could help you and such.”

“Very considerate of you,” she deadpans as she glares at the fire. “Just tell him I have a bit of the winter blues and I’ll be better by spring. He’ll drop it eventually.”

The guilt in Aziraphale writhes at her deflection. “That… that’s a reasonable explanation. Although, I should let you know that he thinks he might have upset you, so you might want to talk to him as well…”

Crowley huffs, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Fuck... Alright, I’ll talk to him tonight before his bedtime.”

“Probably for the best... There shouldn’t be any confusion between the two of you.”

Crowley could laugh at the irony. Instead, she casts him a somber smile. “S’pose not.”

Aziraphale swallows nervously; his desire rising uncontrollably despite his conditioned rationale desperately protesting. Suddenly, he finds himself scooting closer like a magnet to its polar opposite. “Especially with such little time left together,” he adds.

The yearning in his voice gives Crowley the sneaking suspicion that the conversation isn’t entirely about her and Warlock anymore. A suspicion that makes her guard falter as her feet slide instinctively toward the angel. “Right…” she mutters.

Aziraphale cautiously reaches out, allowing her enough time to pull away before his hand lands on her ankle. He takes in the subtle flutter of eyelashes and her breathy exhalation as his fingers skim her calf. “We… we don’t know how all of this will end.” He carefully tugs away her blanket until his breath ghosts her knee. “So, perhaps, it’s important to make the most of it while it’s possible…” Finally, his lips make contact, the bristles of his beard snagging on her stocking as he mouths along the area. He glances up and takes a final gamble. “Wouldn’t you agree, Miss Ashtoreth?” Mr. Cortese murmurs.

Crowley holds back a whimper, shivers rippling through her with every soft touch and kiss he places. She should recoil. She should get up and leave. She _should_ end this game she admittedly started before it goes sideways. Yet, she can’t bring herself to do any of this. Not when his eyes are looking at her, expectant and glassy like he is drunk off of her. Not when he is offering her this opportunity.

Nanny Ashtoreth breathlessly answers, “Yes. Yes, I would agree, Mr. Cortese…”

He gives her a dreamy grin as he rests his cheek against her thigh. “Wonderful.”

The demon abruptly wraps her arms around his neck, drawing their lips together. The restless itch inside both ethereal beings finally sated like a beast deprived of the most delectable prey. And they plan on gorging themselves senseless. 

Without breaking their kiss, Nanny Ashtoreth guides him to lie on top of her and parts her legs so their bodies slot together. A breathy “ _Ohh_ ” is pulled from her as Mr. Cortese’s swelling bulge grinds against her slit, already leaking arousal through her panties. She braces her heels beneath the swell of his ass to encourage more of those sinful motions and gasps, “ _Ah_ … I-I can’t believe we’re doing this.”

The tutor chuckles through a groan. “What? Fooling around like a couple of younglings?”

“No— Well, yeah that too but what I— _mmh_! What I _mean_ is I can’t believe we’re giving this a chance.” She strokes the curls above his nape as she stares at him with hopeful eyes. “That we’re giving _us_ a chance… Is this what you really want?” 

Aziraphale pauses for a moment, much to Crowley’s unease. However, any doubt either has is calmed when he leans down to kiss her, leisurely and unburdened. “It is… I can’t resist this feeling anymore nor do I want to.” He strokes his thumbs along her jaw as he cradles her face. The line between himself and his character blurring. “You are temptation incarnate, milady, and I want to indulge in you for as long as we’re allowed to.”

Crowley suppresses a sob, embracing the angel even tighter. “I want that too.” The nanny kisses his ear before whispering, “Can we agree on something else, Mr. Cortese?”

He hisses as she nips at his earlobe. “What is it, dear?”

She pulls back to reveal a mischievous smile. “I think we’re wearing far too much at the moment, don’t you think?”

“Yes, that is a fair assumption,” he concurs with a smirk as well.

“Splendid.” The demon presses her middle finger and thumb together, ready to snap, but she is quickly halted.

She quirks an eyebrow as Mr. Cortese brings her hand to give it a peck. “None of that, darling. I think a more _human_ method is in order.”

“ _Nooo,_ ” she grouses. “Too much work. Too many layers.”

“Come now, no need to be a brat,” he scolds with a titter. Any further protest is cut off by a whine as his mouth sucks at a sensitive spot on her neck. While she’s distracted by the sensation, he undoes the first few buttons of her blouse. “Besides, the best things in life should be savored…”

Nanny keens as he cups her breast through her bralette and pecks a line down her sternum. “M’ not a damn meal,” she argues but the high-pitch of her voice is hardly intimidating. 

“No?” Swiftly, he pushes up the lacy fabric to display two perky nipples and his tongue lays broad strokes over each one, much to Miss Ashtoreth’s quivering delight. “I’d say you’re far tastier,” he hums, “and I plan on enjoying each bite…” Teeth catching a rosy bud between them.

Her body jolts as Mr. Cortese basically sucks the whole of her tit into his mouth; the experience incomparable to any fantasies she’s had. “ _Agh_! Oh, _fuck_. Then get on with it already,” she begs, her hands scrabbling at his waistcoat.

He pops off with a kiss and rasps, “Certainly, dear.”

Articles are haphazardly shoved, tugged, and discarded away. In the process, foreheads are knocked together, teeth almost elbowed off, but they laugh with the liveliness of dawn, their bodies writhing together as more points of contact are exposed. Until lips and hands glide with ease, tasting… worshipping. Until nothing separates them. 

The temperature of the room seems to rise in parallel with that of their bodies, feverishly splotchy and pooling with sweat, as Mr. Cortese rocks deeper into Nanny Ashtoreth’s cunt. Their grunts and moans stifled by their salted tongues swirling messily together. The tutor withdraws, a string of saliva still connecting them, and he is enamored by the sight beneath him. Miss Ashtoreth ruddy and panting, her eyes blown wide like amber stones, and her curls, usually so pristinely coiffed, now a wild halo around her head. “So gorgeous,” he lauds. “The most gorgeous thing I’ve ever laid eyes on, darling.”

She chokes out a laugh. “You— you sure you’re not just saying that ‘cause you currently have your cock buried in me— _Ngh!”_

He tuts at this but kisses her cheek reassuringly. “You do take it _very_ well.” Emphasizing this with a sharp snap of his hips. “However, since the first moment I saw you… I knew you were the most, _ah_ , beautiful creature in existence. You have no idea how badly I’ve wanted you...”

Crowley gulps, unable to discern between reality and roleplay anymore. Tears threatening to spill at the possibility that the angel has genuinely felt this way since Eden… But she knows better than to ask, lest the spell be broken. Rather, she decides to keep her own guise up. 

Her nails scratch down his back as she clenches her internal muscles around him enticingly. “Well, you have me… So _take me_ ,” Nanny growls.

A primal glint shines in his eyes. He takes her demand at face value, grabbing her hips firmly and angling them so he can plow into her with deep, squelching thrusts. Each jab of the tutor’s prick punching out a few yips and strained profanities from Miss Ashtoreth’s prettily reddened lips. Their hot breaths mingling with the heat of the swelling fire as Mr. Cortese speeds up his pace to lay his claim.

The demon’s face contorts in ecstasy, her body feeling as powerless as a grain of sand against a surging, oceanic current; waves of pleasure battering and threatening to drown her. It’s only when she feels Mr. Cortese spill into her with a low drawl that she lets herself be dragged under. Her broken cry dampened by the _whoosh_ of the blazes, strong enough to blow the firescreen out with a clatter.

“Fuck.”

“Oh my.”

Crowley handles the cinders burning the rug while Aziraphale makes sure that whoever heard the raucous suddenly had somewhere better to be. Once they’ve settled things down, they stare at each other in shock.

“Well… that’s a trick I’d never done before,” Crowley says, still winded. There’s a beat before they both cackle at the ridiculousness of the situation. “Ah shit, angel, we’re a mess!”

“Quite,” he giggles.

She uncovers her blushing face to see Aziraphale still hovering over her, dewy and wearing a shy smile that is his and his alone. Her hands tentatively lift until they’re splayed over his chest and he lets out a small, content hum as her fingertips brush over the damp tufts. A silence falling over them. A suspension in time where they are allowed to be themselves.

Finally, Aziraphale clutches one of Crowley’s hands, pressing it close to his heart. “I wish I could stay but… I’m afraid my lesson is about to end.”

The demon nods in understanding.

He gently pulls out of her and sits back on his calves, admiring her one last time. The bliss on her face, the bite marks on her ash-scented skin… the auburn curls matted to her puffy, used cunt. He clears his throat. “Let me just clean you up first— “

“Wait. Um… I’ll take care of it in a bit, yeah?” she says meekly, currently enjoying the stickiness between her inner thighs.

Aziraphale gulps. The thought of her staying here alone, reclined on the chaise like a greek goddess after being utterly debauched, makes his cock twitch again. However, he simply stores that image away for later and concedes with a stammer, miracling his clothes back on.

As he adjusts his collar, Crowley spots a flash of purple underneath and can’t help feeling a bit moved that he too wants to keep a memento of their encounter.

“I’ll make sure no one disturbs you while you’re here,” he assures as he rests his hand on her knee.

“Thanks, angel,” she yawns.

Aziraphale retrieves her blanket from the ground and throws it over her. After he stands, Crowley expects him to turn around and leave. Instead, he tucks a stray curl behind her ear and leans down to kiss her forehead. “Until next time, Miss Ashtoreth…”

She lets out a sigh, her skin tingling where his lips had pressed. “Until next time.”

—

Mr. Cortese gives himself a final inspection in one of the hallway mirrors before he enters the study. There, he sees Warlock calmly reading his book of the week. “Terribly sorry for keeping you waiting, Warlock. Seems time got away from me.”

“It’s fine. I finished all my homework anyway.” 

“Excellent. Allow me to check it before I head out,” he offers as he takes his seat next to him

“Alright, but... is Nanny okay?” 

The tutor considers his answer carefully. “Oh, you needn’t worry, dear boy. Your Nanny is in a much better mood now."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Healthy communication? I don't know her.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and Kudos Appreciated  
> -Ruby ❣️


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